Dark Days
by howmoriartystolechristmas
Summary: Set during MI: Fallout. Maisie Parker is one of the only people in the world to have spoken with John Lark directly. So what will Ethan have to do to get her on their side? And what will John Lark do once he finds out?
1. Part One

"…we don't have much to go on. This John Lark is a complete unknown, however we do know he has had multiple meetings with a college student, Maisie Parker. No further information is available on the nature of these meetings. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to track down both Nils Debruuk and Maisie Parker to find out what they know, and intercept the plutonium before it can be used by the Apostles. This message will self-destruct in…"

Ethan Hunt flipped the hollowed out book shut as smoke filled his nostrils. The girl in the photos, Miss Parker, looked almost like a teenager. How did she get involved with a terrorist like John Lark?

Luther and Benji could handle the nuclear weapons expert; a man like that would do anything for his vision to come true, and that was something easily exploitable. But someone who had met with John Lark personally? That required Hunt's full attention.

Maisie Parker was in fact no recluse. Although Hunt expected to require Benji or Luther's help to track the girl down, a quick google search revealed her multiple social media accounts. According to her Facebook, she was planning on attending an upcoming event in Paris, some sort of massive nightclub party with very exclusive invites.

Hunt phoned the director of the IMF on a disposable mobile to coordinate an immediate flight to Paris.

Maisie didn't really consider herself a party person; but then again, events like these were the perfect cover for top-secret meetings. She smiled at her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she adjusted her pantsuit. The friends she came with had, as expected, ditched her the second they got a little tipsy, which gave her freedom as well as an alibi.

In the past months, her appearance had changed quite a bit. John required it; it kept things 'tidier' as he put it. As long as you avoid a consistent appearance, people find it harder to look for you in a crowd. Of course, her safety was never really an issue. She knew Lark had ensured her constant protection ever since he realized he needed her. She didn't even know what her bodyguards looked like or what their names were, but her growing bank account stopped her from asking too many questions.

Before coming to the party she had gotten most of her hair cut off. For a while she had been just dying it from her natural blonde, to brunette, to bright red, to a brunette again, but this meeting was more important than usual, so she figured why not make a more permanent change. The ends of her hair were still somewhat sharp and the feeling of them brushing over her naked shoulders was an unfamiliar delight.

She hovered over the sink, mouth dangling open as she fitted two colored contacts into her eyes. This meeting had to go well. For the first time, Lark was introducing her to another of his colleagues, the White Widow. She was their ticket to plutonium.

Maisie swore as she realized she was running slightly late. The bar lounge was opposite the bathrooms, thankfully, and she rushed in just as one familiar face fell into conversation with a stranger. The White Widow wasn't with John Lark.

Frowning, she approached the pair. Although the man hid it well, his eyelids flickered in panic. He gave her an easy smile. "We meet again," his gaze stared deeply into hers, pleading.

"It's been a while. You look different. Have you lost weight?" She grinned at this man as the muscles in his jaw loosened, and he dragged over a stool for her.

The White Widow spoke up. "As I was saying, and I'm sure you'll agree with me Maisie, is that Mr. Lark here seems far too handsome to do what he does. Don't you think?"

Maisie shrugged, hoisting herself up onto the stool. "The hot ones are always assholes, I find. Anyways, shall we get down to business?"

The stranger gave her an unsure look, then deepened his stare to behind her. She swiveled to see what was going on, only to notice three men standing conspicuously still, staring at them.

The White Widow frowned. "Your protection?"

Maisie shook her head, confused. "They've never been this obvious." She turned back, slow grin on her face. "What do you think, Mr. Lark?" He furrowed his brows. "Should we be afraid?"

Her good humor vanished when a bruising grip on her arm jolted her in towards him. "These men are here to kill one of us, and I'm sure you don't want to take the odds that it's not you. What do you say?"

His grip didn't waver. She swallowed, fighting the urge to turn back to the men that were surely closing in on them. "I think…it would be in our best interests to continue the discussion privately."

He gave her a nod, before tugging her off the seat. The White Widow threw her a distressed look, but all Maisie could do was shrug.

And duck.

The knife came out of nowhere, but clearly the man wasn't as caught off guard. He dropped Maisie's arm and latched onto the hitman's in a second, using brute force to bend the man's elbow back onto himself. The man crumpled over, knife deeply embedded in his chest.

Maisie didn't have time to gape at the dying body on the floor; she felt hands like claws grabbing at her shoulders and slamming her into a barstool. She was dumped unceremoniously on the floor, and groaned as her head swam. A metallic warmth flooded her mouth and she realized through inspection that she had bitten deeply into her lip. Holding a hand over her injured mouth, she used the other arm to hoist herself up off the carpet, heart racing.

The mysterious man posing as John Lark was beating the crap out of two men, and both the White Widow and an unfamiliar lady were taking down the rest.

She turned to follow the three as they made their way toward an exit, only to be assaulted again by a pair of arms wrapping around her torso.

She yelped and started wriggling, flailing her legs in the air, but the solid mass of muscle was herding her towards the exit.

She slowly realized this person was clearly on their side, as he hadn't made any move to injure her and in fact was following the others. He let her down when she stopped struggling, and she turned to look at him, almost stumbling over herself.

The real John Lark stood across from her. An incredulous exclamation came out of her but he shook his head firmly, and placed a hand on her back to keep pushing her out the door.

Her mind was still racing when they bundled into a car and took off. The White Widow was in the front beside her brother; Maisie was sandwiched between two John Larks.

The fake Lark caught her dumbfounded expression. "You okay?"

She slowly nodded. The ensuing silence caused her to look up, and she saw he was waiting for an answer. On the other side of her, she felt a hand close around her wrist, holding it at a painful angle, ready to snap. "I… I'm not used to violence, that's all. The bodyguards usually deal with that stuff themselves without me ever seeing it. Where were they, anyway?"

The man mentally fumbled to come up with an answer, and Maisie felt the iron grip fall away, leaving an aching wrist behind. "There were more men out to get us. They were preoccupied. Next time I'll assign more. This won't be happening again."

Even though she knew the words were coming from a stranger who was lying through his teeth, they were still reassuring to her. A thought struck her as the adrenaline high wore off. She twisted around and faced John.

"Sorry, I didn't catch your name."

He gave her a pleasant smile. "Walker." The smile had an edge to it; the 'don't ask questions' glint in his eye.

She rubbed her wrist and nodded. "Nice to meet you. Maisie Parker."

At the residence of the White Widow, Maisie quickly requested to be escorted to a bathroom to have a shower. It wasn't particularly hot out, but the stress of the evening had caused her to sweat, and the satiny fabric of her pantsuit was starting to stick to her thighs and stomach.

At least, she convinced herself that was the reason. Deep down, she was terrified. Terrified of screwing something up, of saying the wrong thing and having the wrath of that maniac upon her.

It was the fake John Lark that was waiting outside the bathroom when she got out almost an hour later.

She stopped at the doorway, waiting for him to say something. His face was impassive, and before he spoke, he walked into the bathroom, causing her to back up, and shut the door behind them. The steam-licked mirrors and windows caused a somewhat claustrophobic atmosphere and she clasped her hands together tightly to stop them from shaking.

"You know I'm not the real Lark."

She nodded slowly.

"But you let me convince the White Widow I am."

Again, he waited for her to give an assenting nod.

"How old are you?"

She blinked, caught off her rhythm. It took her a while to even think enough to answer. "Uh, twenty two."

His eyes softened. "What are you doing with a man like Lark? He wants to kill millions of people. He's a psychopath."

Little did he know that the psychopath in question was two doors down. "I have a family. He has hitmen." She poked at the wound on the inside of her lip with her tongue, hoping the jolt of pain would stop her from getting too emotional.

"What does he need from you?"

She sighed, leaning back against the vanity. "He needs a memory."

The man furrowed his brows. "What?"

"Look, if I'm going to tell you all this, and he finds out, I'm dead. My family's dead. So I need to know who you are, and I need to know that you'll get me out of this."

The man considered this. Finally, he gave a single nod. "My name is Ethan Hunt. I'm an operative with the IMF, the Impossible Mission Force. We are closely linked with the CIA. I can get you out of this. I promise."

Maisie could feel her hair beginning to curl from the steam. "That's a stupid name."

The man shook his head in disbelief. "What?"

"Impossible Mission Force," she elaborated, "is a really stupid name. Clearly the missions aren't impossible, otherwise they wouldn't hire employees to do them."

He gave her a long, hard stare. She threw her hands up in defeat. "I'm going to ask you again, Maisie: What does he need from you?"

She crossed her hands over her chest. Without realizing it, she had lowered her voice, subconsciously afraid the man in question would overhear from down the hall. "A guy like Lark can't afford anything to go wrong. He knows files can be stolen and computers can be hacked. Of course, he needs to have some sort of communication with the Apostles, but all the important information? It's up here." She placed a finger to her temple. "I meet with him and with other Apostles to share the really top secret information. No physical records, no problem."

"Doesn't that put you at a lot of risk? A lot of people would do some terrible things to a person to get what they needed out of her."

She shrugged. "Why do you think I have bodyguards? Why do you think I don't even know who they are? In exchange for my photographic memory, he keeps me and my family alive. Break that trust, it all goes to shit."

Ethan had his head down for most of this, processing the information. All at once, he lunged at her and grabbed tightly onto her shoulders. "Tell me who Lark is. All of this death and destruction can be prevented, but only if you tell me who he is."

Maisie winced as her skull bounced off the mirror glass. "I can't!"

He shook her, staring intensely into her eyes. "I promised I'd keep you safe, just tell me!"

"I can't!" she hissed at him, shaking his hands off of her. "If I tell you anything specific, he knows exactly where it came from. I'm sorry, but I'm not taking that risk. You're the one that signed up to an impossible mission, not me. You get me out of this, I'll help you with whatever I can but nobody can keep me safe from a man like him. You best believe that anything you find out is precisely what he wants you to know. Any advantage he gives you by letting you take me is a step down the path that leads directly to your own demise. He's going to destroy the world, Ethan. He's not leaving this up to good luck."

Feeling like she needed another shower already, she pushed past Ethan and into the hallway.

He didn't follow.

 _Hi everybody, thanks for reading! I love MI: Fallout so very much and I really wanted to put my own twist on it, so I hope you enjoy it too!_

 _I'd love to hear from you, so please do write a review down below. Updates will be unpredictable as I tend to have random spurts of motivation and I can't guarantee how often they'll come, so I would recommend following the story if you want to keep posted._


	2. Part Two

Maisie hadn't spoken with anyone after she left the bathroom. She had kept her head down, walked straight into the main foyer and out the door.

Everybody was so busy with planning strategies that nobody had seen her leave. There were surprisingly no guards at the door, or security of any sort that would keep her inside the building.

She figured it was time to get a little fresh air. See some of Paris while she was there.

In fact, Maisie had flown over right before the party, and since then, hadn't had a chance to go anywhere at all.

That party felt like weeks ago, but that was probably just the exhaustion speaking.

Paris was beautiful at night, and in fact pale streaks of dawn were beginning to illuminate the tops of buildings and trees.

The street they were on didn't seem to have much going on, bar a small café further down. To Maisie's delight, the sign was out and a little neon sign was glowing 'open'.

She clambered down the concrete steps of the White Widow's residence, still wearing her ungodly heels and pantsuit from last night. Luckily, her pockets were still stuffed with her belongings, and the right one was jangling with coin change from the one drink she brought at the bar last night.

The place smelled thick with coffee beans and it was surprisingly busy for around 5 in the morning. She managed to find a table in the corner of the café, a two-seater.

Hot coffee was exactly what she needed and before she even took a sip she pressed the warm mug against her chest, breathing deeply. Finally having a chance to get some peace and quiet.

Maisie knew that after this, she'd have to go back to that house. That either Ethan Hunt would follow through and take her with him wherever it was he would go, or somehow John Lark would find out and… Nobody could really predict what he would do when he got angry. The fact that he was so close by and she couldn't even say anything was tugging at her anxious mind constantly. She didn't even know if he had somehow overheard or found out about her conversation with Ethan.

But now wasn't the time for worrying about things like that. Now was the time for recharging.

A little jingle went off each time someone entered the cramped coffeehouse, and Maisie couldn't help but glance up every time. Mostly it was just some sort of worker getting a coffee on their daily transit, but this time, when Maisie glanced up, the woman was staring directly at her.

Maisie hurriedly put the mug down, spilling a little coffee on the glass tabletop, and leaned back defensively as the lady sat down across from her.

She had light brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and was wearing motorcycle leathers.

The woman looked around her, then zeroed in on Maisie again. "I shouldn't be here. You can't tell Lark I was here, okay?"

Maisie stammered. "I- I don't even know who you are. What's going on?"

The woman sighed, hands resting on the edge of the table, leaning in so that she could lower her voice. "My name is Ilsa Faust. I'm one of your bodyguards."

Maisie frowned. "I'm not supposed to know who you are-"

"-which is exactly why you can't tell Lark, I know. Does the name Ethan Hunt ring a bell?"

"You know him?" The lady didn't nod, but simply waited for a straight answer. "He's the IMF agent pretending to be John Lark. He's going to get me out of this."

The lady slowly shook her head. "I'm sure he promised you that, and I'm sure he thinks he means it, but his priority right now is stopping John Lark at any cost. If you go with him he's not leading you to safety, he's leading you right into the lion's den. His version of safety is that at least you'll be with him." Ilsa leaned in even closer, one of her hands clasping over Maisie's. "Come with me, I swear I'll get you somewhere safe where you can stay until this is all over."

Maisie took a long time to consider this. Ilsa's hand squeezed hers gently. After a moment, Maisie slowly pulled her hands back into her lap, leaving Ilsa's splayed out on the table. "I'm sorry," she begun, trying to avoid the intense look in Ilsa's eyes. "Until John Lark is stopped, I'm not safe anywhere. I know too much. My best bet is to stick with the one guy that is professionally qualified to do shit like this. I'm sure you can come with us, I could introduce you two?"

Ilsa picked her hand up off the table and leaned back in her chair, letting out a humorless laugh. "I don't need to be introduced, but thank you. I have a very specific job to do, Maisie. I hope you don't get in the way."

Maisie's gaze settled into some near distance, seeing nothing, hearing only the jingle as the woman left the store.

She took a sip of her coffee. Cold.

It was time to head back to the house.

The sun was starting to properly lighten up the skies, and inside the residence of the White Widow, everybody was in action. Guns were being inspected and loaded, lines of nondescript men were wrapping themselves in bulletproof wear.

But what caught Maisie's attention were the three men and one lady bent over a large table with a map. She walked over to them, and they looked up as she approached.

"Went somewhere, did we?" The White Widow's brother was the one to ask this, but all four waited for an answer.

She nodded. "Got some coffee from a place down the road." She looked down at the map, a single red line winding its way through the middle. "What am I supposed to do?"

It was Ethan who answered, as John Lark. "You'll be with me and Walker in one of the vans. If you wanted to hear the plan, you should've been here when we were discussing it. Just follow my lead and don't fuck it up and you'll be just fine."

The pseudo-aggression hid a message for her. She'd go with Ethan, and he'd lead her out of there. But there was one problem with that plan, one Ethan could never have known.

The real John Lark.

Ethan seemed to believe 'Walker' was on his side, and Maisie had no idea what John would do when Ethan took him and Maisie on a rescue mission.

They were packing up the vehicles now, and Maisie hurried over to the vans with Ethan, were Lark was already waiting.

He threw them both a friendly smile and wave, and hoisted himself up into the passenger seat of the truck. Ethan got into the driver's seat, and gestured for Maisie to go into the back of the truck. One of the armored men helped her up, and she noticed a single seat with a seatbelt attached to the inside of the van, facing backwards. She rolled her eyes. Now was the kind of time she was really glad she didn't get carsick.

Once she had strapped in, she noticed a glossy panel separating her and the driver's section. There was also a switch.

She pushed the switch, and was pleased to see the panel dropping down like a divider, revealing the two Larks sitting in the front of the van.

Ethan was on her opposite side, so she couldn't see him, but Lark noticed the noise and turned around to face her.

Ethan called out to her as the truck began to move. "Just follow my lead, and I'll get you out of here!"

Lark's face dropped as he kept solid eye contact with Maisie. She offered up a weak smile and shrugged, flicking back the switch so that the panel rose up again and forcefully cut off Lark's gaze.

Maisie turned round, staring at the eight or ten men all geared up with guns, standing at the van's doors. A rock and a hard place. She sighed. "Fuck."

 _And there we go! A little bit of a cliffhanger, but nothing too drastic, I hope :)_

 _Normally I would have chapters a little longer than this, but I expect the whole Paris action sequence to need at least a whole chapter to itself._

 _Again, let me know what you think! And thank you to the person that reviewed literally less than 24 hours after I first published this. You're awesome!_


	3. Part Three

Ethan had ruined the plan. Maisie could feel the judder of impact as the van hit something bulky in front of it. She couldn't see anything, her gaze was fixed on the armed men struggling to stay upright, but she felt the collision ring through her bones.

All of a sudden her head was thrown back as the van began to reverse out through the narrow alleyway. There were no windows in the booth of the van where she and the men were, only a set of doors at the back, the way they had come in.

Those men clearly had no idea what was going on. They were stumbling around into each other, legs wobbling as they tried to balance while still gripping their guns.

Another impact made Maisie's teeth clatter together, barely missing another run-in with her lip that was still healing. Her stomach rolled as the van took a sharp turn, and suddenly stopped reversing and slamming back into acceleration.

The men all lost their footing, then, and the collapse of weight on the back doors caused them to fall open, with the team falling out onto the street.

She thanked her lucky stars for whoever it was that gave her the only seat with a safety belt, and hopelessly stared as the horde of police vehicles that descended upon the dazed men grew further and further away.

A whirring noise broke her attention and she saw the partition was being lowered to reveal John Lark, and behind him, dizzying scenery flying past.

He gave her a look, difficult to read, simultaneously asking her if she was okay and telling her she soon wouldn't be.

She found herself more distracted by the front windscreen, ignoring his gaze and focusing on the oncoming traffic Ethan was deftly navigating. Numbly, she gripped tightly onto the stiff fabric of her seatbelt, and moaned lowly when she saw they were headed straight towards a descending set of steps that led straight into a block of shops.

If she could see Ethan, she would see a look of determination and lightning-quick cunning, but she couldn't, so she finally made eye contact with Lark.

Lark, who seemed surprisingly calm given the situation, simply shook his head, flicked a switch and turned away as the glossy panel rose again.

She went to flick the switch but was confronted with a lurching feeling of weightlessness, lifting her feet off the floor and her butt off the seat.

They had launched off the street, and were twisting mid-air down the steps. Maisie once again felt grateful for her seatbelt, and dug her fingers in until her knuckles turned white.

The blurred view out the back of the van finally came to a halt as they came down hard on the pavement. People milling about in front of the shops stared at her in anxious confusion, but before she could react, she was lurched forward as the van accelerated again, leaving the civilians behind.

Maisie swallowed hard as police cars and motorbikes, all flashing red and blue, followed them down the narrow suburban street. She wondered if she simply clipped open her belt and let herself fall out the back, would they believe her story? Would they keep her safe?

It wasn't worth the risk.

She frowned as she saw they were slowing down, the cars coming to a full stop. It seemed odd to her that they would just give up like that, but another collision answered her questions.

They had come to a full, juddering stop. Luckily for her, the sudden halt caused the back doors to swing shut.

Shakily, she unclipped her belt and flicked the switch on the partition, impatiently waiting for it to roll all the way down, trying to quell her panting.

Both men ignored her. They were kicking at the windscreen, until it cracked, and fell out onto the street. Maisie now saw they were in an alleyway too narrow for the van to go through, but too narrow for any police officers to go around. Lark jumped out immediately, but Ethan came into her line of vision, offering a hand.

She struggled through the narrow gap and clambered out onto the street, noticing only two motorbikes waiting. She didn't know how to ride one anyway, but for a moment her heart spiked with fear.

Ethan pushed her towards Lark, who grabbed her with bruising strength and hoisted her up onto the back of the motorbike, hopping in front of her. Instinctively, she put her arms around his solid torso and held on for dear life.

He revved the engine, and her hands clasped at his jacket desperately when they took off down the street.

Against the wind, cursing her lack of helmet, she stared back at where they had come from. Police officers were now climbing onto the roof of the van, and Ethan was still trying to get his bike to start.

"Ethan?" Lark called out to him with his earpiece, focusing on the way ahead as they pulled into traffic.

Maisie couldn't hear the reply, although there surely was one, and once they turned the corner she could no longer see Ethan. She just hoped he was okay. He had to be.

She tried to call ahead to Lark, but her voice was mostly lost in the wind.

They were getting higher up now, driving on a slope as they crossed a bridge over a gorgeous flowing river.

She screamed it now. "Is Ethan okay?!"

She felt Lark's fingers break open her interlocking hands, causing her to almost lose her balance, catching the edge of his jacket at the last second. Her heart jolted and she called out to him desperately again.

He turned back to her, just for a second. "It's not him you should be concerned about."

Before she could fully process what he said, she felt the bike begin to turn back in on itself. The centripetal force pushed her outwards, and all it took was a shove before her lower back hit the metal railings, and the momentum tipped her over further still, falling towards open water.

In moments like this, whether it was jumping from a diving board, or leaping from a pier, or being shoved to your potential death by one of the most dangerous men in the world, time always slows down.

It feels like you have hours until you hit; your arms are flailing and your legs kicking hopelessly and that noise you hear is your own scream. But no matter how much you try to keep your head up, at the last second you always look down to see a solid wall of blue-green rushing impossibly fast towards you, and then you're under.

If you're in a natural body of water, you feel like there's seaweed tugging at your legs, and all sorts of horrifying creatures winding around your ankles, but sometimes that feeling is actually the solid grip of someone bringing you up out of the water and into a speedboat.

Sometimes.

Maisie coughed up spurt after spurt of salty water, heaving and huffing, trying to catch her breath.

Her pantsuit, which had suffered more than any one piece of clothing should, had become sodden and impossibly heavy.

She braced her elbows against the varnished wood, sitting up a little, blinking away the sting in her eyes and staring at the two men standing over her. One in a wetsuit and snorkel, the other wearing a linen shirt and a panama hat.

The man with a snorkel dragged the wet headgear off, revealing a friendly face and red hair. He held out a hand to her. "I'm Benji Dunn, IMF agent, friend of Ethan's. Nice to meet you."

The sudden wave of relief caused Maisie to go weak, falling back onto the wet floor, sighing.

"Hi, Benji. I'm Maisie."

 _And here lies another chapter! I've actually never written an action sequence before so please give me your honest criticism so that I can improve for all the upcoming stunts! Maisie will definitely not be getting off easy from here on out._

 _Next chapter, she finally properly meets and interacts with Benji, Luther and Solomon Lane._

 _I'd love to hear your thoughts; they keep me motivated and making more chapters._

 _xx_


	4. Part Four

In the fifteen minutes Maisie had spent in the speedboat, nobody had bothered to introduce, or even mention, the figure in a straightjacket and hood. Whoever was underneath had been silent the whole time, not even moving from the awkward angle he was lying in.

After she had recovered a little, the black man, Luther, had bundled her up in a scratchy picnic blanket that was luckily warmer than it looked.

She must have lost her high heels in the water, and was now sitting, barefoot, across from the unnamed figure, up by the controls with the two IMF agents. Every now and again, one of them would hold a hand to their face and rattle off some out-of-context information, presumably on the same communication system that Lark and Hunt were using. At one point, both men kept surreptitiously glancing down at her, speaking low enough that she couldn't hear.

It was infuriating, not being able to control or even know what the man on the other end was telling them.

The chilly wind off the water picked up again as they turned a harsh corner, spinning the boat around until they were heading back in the direction they came. She frowned, and sat up a little, tucking her chin into the warmth of the now-damp blanket. They were heading towards some sort of tunnel adjacent to the main flow of the river, and once the boat slid in, the only light came from skinny beams of light coming down from manhole covers.

She cleared her throat, and Luther turned to look at her. "Where are we going?"

He crouched down to her level while Benji steered through the gentle lap of the water. "We're going to pick Ethan up from the emergency pick-up point, then we'll all regroup. You holdin' up okay?"

She nodded without really thinking. Then a thought struck her. "Emergency? Is Ethan alright?"

He patted her on the shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. "It's Ethan, of course he's fine. He always finds trouble, and then always miraculously gets out of it." He reached up onto the dashboard. "Mint?"

She smiled gratefully, glad to have the taste of salty muck out of her mouth. She pushed it out to the side of her cheek and lisped around it. "Who's that dude?"

A gesture was unnecessary, but she jerked her head in the direction of the strange figure anyway. The person tilted their head slightly, as if waiting for the answer himself.

"Solomo-"

Luther jabbed an elbow into Benji's leg, interrupting him, ignoring Benji's 'hey!' and turning back to Maisie.

"It's not our place to say. Ethan will decide if you need to know."

"Speaking of…"

A particularly large beam of light shone down on them know as Benji looked up and waited.

Maisie heard the commotion of sirens and car screeches even before a familiar figure dropped from the hole and fell into the boat. Without a moment's hesitation, Benji sped off, leaving foamed-up water in their wake.

Ethan Hunt groaned as he sat up, accepting the hand Luther offered him to stand up. He sent a long, hard but unreceived glare at the man with the black hood over his face, then softened as he locked his gaze on Maisie. "Why are you wet?" He asked quizzically.

"Who's that guy?"

Ethan blinked at her. "I asked first."

Maisie huffed. "Your friend threw me off a bridge. Who is that guy?"

The three agents shared a glance; Benji giving a shrug, Ethan working his jaw in consternation. "Solomon Lane." She glanced up as Ethan finally spoke. "An anarchist and terrorist."

Maisie hadn't been expecting that. "Oh. The guy from the plan?"

Ethan gave her a look that said not to speak further, but nodded.

She sighed, slowly pulling herself to her feet as they bounced up against a concrete path and came to a stop. Luther helped her out and stayed closely beside her, shielding her from the evil man that was being led up to a set of narrow stairs.

At the top was a single cramped room containing John Lark himself, pacing impatiently back and forth. Maisie leaned in to Luther a little more, shrinking back from this man.

Once they were all up and the metal door had been locked behind them, Ethan began filling them in on what the next steps of the plan were. Maisie should've been listening, but she spent all her energy studiously avoiding Lark's gaze. When he had first noticed her, he smirked at her wet rat appearance. Clearly throwing her off the bridge was his adjustment to a much drier plan.

"…and once we reach the collection point, I'll meet with the White Widow, who will bring us in contact with the seller of the plutonium, job done. Everyone happy?"

Most of the team nodded, but Maisie stuck her hand in the air. Ethan frowned at her, but waved her on. "I don't suppose anyone has any spare clothes? I'm kind of freezing to death here." Her point was supported by her blue lips and red, raw fingers.

Benji dived into their bags, fishing around. After a moment, he came up with a pair of pants and a short-sleeved shirt with the logo for Paris' police department on it.

"Why do you- Never mind, I'll take them." She glanced around, realizing she was in a room filled with men and no bathroom. "Turn around." The men all jumped and hurried to turn and face the wall, but one figure didn't move.

Solomon Lane, still in his straightjacket with a hood over his head, stood hopelessly in the corner, still facing in her direction. He couldn't see anything, probably, but she jumped forward and quickly grabbed him by the shoulders, spinning him around.

The surprise of someone grabbing him left him compliant, and he simply stayed where she left him. Trying not to think about the fact that she touched a murderer, she quickly stripped off the wet, clingy fabric of her pantsuit and underwear and used the last dry patches of the blanket to dry herself off a little before stepping into the fake police uniform. The seam of the pants between her legs was uncomfortable, and the men's shirt was too loose in the shoulders and far too tight around her chest, but it was a drastic improvement.

She tucked her arms over her chest and let them know she was done. The men slowly turned back around, Luther silently passing her his leather jacket, smiling at Maisie's grateful look.

Finally feeling the warmth return to her fingers, Maisie sighed in relief, following the group of agents up the flight of stairs that went from the tunnel they had come from, all the way into what appeared to be a garage, only just big enough for the sports car inside.

The metal was cold on her feet, and she relished the chance to sit inside a car and defrost. The garage door ground haltingly open, and Maisie was halfway in, hovering awkwardly over the back seat when she saw a police officer writing a parking ticket less than ten feet in front of them. Everyone paused, Lark with his hand resting on Lane's head, about to bundle him into the front passenger seat.

The lady took a while to process what was going on, then raised her gun at them. Maisie blinked, then realized what she was wearing. Pushing off Benji's grip, she walked forward to the front of the garage and caught the officer's attention. "Hey, lady! Je suis police! Je suis police!" Maisie held out the little embroidered patch on her shirt, cursing all the times she didn't pay attention in French class.

Ethan caught onto her play and spoke in much better French, holding out his hands, trying to calm the lady down. But before he could get the chance to convince her to go, a shot rang out.

Maisie jumped and cowered back against the hood of the car, shaking wildly, trying to hold her hands up. Four men from the White Widow's house stood in front of them, each with guns ready to fire.

It was Ethan who shot this time, firing four rounds in quick succession, and running over to the injured officer before the bodies even hit the ground. While he spoke to her, Luther grabbed her and took her to the front of the car, buckling her into the middle seat, and to her horror, putting Solomon Lane on the passenger seat beside her.

Lark, Benji and Luther piled into the backseat and finally Ethan joined them, revving the engine and speeding out of the garage and into traffic.

Maisie could feel her heart race as they swerved between cars on the busy motorway, but a loud ping in her ear caused it to miss a beat.

There was a single bullet hole in the glass, and a blooming patch of wet red grew on the side of Solomon's hood. Ethan saw this, and careened the car under the cover of an overhead bridge, coming to a juddering stop.

"Everyone out!"

Maisie desperately tried to grab the door handle, but Solomon was in the way. The rest of the passengers had already left, running towards a service hatch in the concrete walls. Ethan huffed and punched the car into gear again, tires squealing as they reentered traffic.

A strong arm pushed across her to Lane, as Ethan ripped off the hood to check if the man was still alive.

The bullet had only grazed his ear, taking a chunk of it out, but that wasn't what caused Maisie's heart to drop into her stomach.

It was the fact that this man's face was undeniably familiar, and not as Solomon Lane.

"Interesting," the man commented in a throaty drawl. He flicked his gaze from Ethan to her, and grinned. "Hello, Maisie."

 _Bit of a cliffhanger for this one, guys! Thank you again to the people who send a review my way, I love hearing what you think, and I'm so glad you're enjoying the story._

 _Why do you think Maisie and Solomon know each other? I'd love to hear your theories._


	5. Part Five

"Brian?"

Ethan frowned at that, but kept steering recklessly through the streams of traffic, trying to lose the motorcyclist tailing them. Maisie had recoiled back once the hood was taken off, for a moment forgetting the imminent danger she was in, had been in for the past 36 hours.

He held his grin and amused gaze for a moment, then turned in his seat to look in the sideview mirror out the passenger door.

The black-clad figure on the motorbike had disappeared from behind them, and they finally had free reign to proceed to the meeting point.

Just as she felt her heart begin to slow, she was lurched forward, seatbelt cutting painfully into her neck.

In front of the was the rider that had shot at them before. The tinted glass of the helmet had been lifted up, giving Maisie a clear view of the woman who was holding a gun pointed straight at them.

"That's Ilsa," the fugitive commented as if he was watching a mildly interesting soap opera.

Maisie jerked her head sharply to face him. "How do you know Ilsa?"

Ilsa Faust shook her head at Ethan, but he took a deep breath and accelerated enough to knock her over the hood of the car.

Maisie twisted her torso around and watched as Ilsa's prone body grew more and more distant, until she couldn't make her out anymore.

She settled back in her seat, and the three passengers drove in an uncomfortable silence.

Ethan had to leave as soon as the three of them arrived at the meet up point so that he could meet with the Widow and find out their next move.

Luther had covered up the tracker signals from a chip in Lane's neck, so all they could do was wait for him to return.

Maisie spent the hour sitting cross-legged in the corner of the room, hoping to avoid both Lane and Lark. Another two men in her life that clearly spent most of their time lying to her about who they really were.

All this espionage was exhausting, and she couldn't help but drift off every now and again, resting fitfully, feet too cold to really get any decent sleep.

In the end, after Hunt returned, they used a private jet courtesy of the CIA to travel to London where the trade was meant to occur.

For the duration of the short flight Maisie had feigned sleeping, not in the mood to field any questions from Hunt about what had transpired in the car. When they finally reached the safe point in London, the game plan was to remove the location chip in Lane's neck, so as to avoid the hordes of police that would be tracing the signal to track Lane down.

Both Benji and Luther had a tight grip on the man, the latter holding a strange device up to his neck. Ethan sat across from the man, with a timer on his phone displaying how long Luther had to get rid of the chip before police zeroed in on their location.

"Your mission, should you choose to accept it. I wonder, Mr. Hunt, did you ever choose not to? The end you always feared is coming, and the blood will be on your hands. The fallout of all your good intentions."

Ethan broke eye contact with the man to take a glance at the countdown. Luther finally saw a flash of green on his monitor and set off the device, dropping the chip into a compartment on a drone that Benji flew out a window, leading the police away until they could no

Maisie looked down to avoid Ethan's gaze as it led to her, resolutely focusing on fiddling with the sleeve of Luther's jacket.

"How do you know Maisie?"

This caught the attention of both Lark and Benji, Luther faltering but shaking his head and continuing to work on Lane.

The man in question smirked. "Do you want to tell them, Maisie?"

She leaned into the wall, refusing to answer or make eye contact with anyone.

He chuckled. "Don't worry, I'm told it's perfectly normal for a child to not get along with their step-father."

She shook her head numbly as the rest of the team, excluding Lark, recoiled.

Solomon Lane continued. "Of course, when I married your mother as Brian Smith, I tried to bond with you. School fairs, board games, drowning your mother in the bathtub. The therapists said you'd block out the memory but I think we both know that's not true. I find it odd, darling Maisie, that you're trying so hard to escape this life of crime. You were raised into it."

She raised her head to glare at him, eyes hard behind the welling tears. "You're a sick man!"

"And what does that make you?" Lane didn't wait for her to answer. "When I introduced you to Lark, I really imagined you'd do better than this." He turned back to Ethan Hunt, who had been listening intently, but staying quiet. "Isn't it ironic, Mr. Hunt, that the family she thought she had to protect from Lark is the same man who's working with him?"

Ethan blinked, and sat back. He turned to Maisie. "You said you couldn't tell me who Lark was because he'd kill your family. Now you know that's not true." He leapt up off the stool in front of Lane and over to where Maisie was leaning dejectedly against the wall. "Tell me who Lark is. We can end this, right here, right now."

It took everything Maisie had not to let her gaze wander over to the man Hunt knew as Walker. She could hear the familiar throaty laugh of Lane behind her. "She's scared, Hunt! Even when the only person she has left to protect is herself, she still can't do it!"

Hunt bent down slightly to grab onto her shoulders. He shook her back and forth, rattling her teeth, ignoring the protests of Benji and Luther. "Come on!" The tears that had been building up finally spilled over as she apologized through her sobs. "Millions of people are gonna die, Maisie! Whoever it is, I can protect you. Just tell me!"

A deep voice echoed through the room, one that was unfamiliar to her. "Agent Hunt, release that girl immediately."

When the tight grip finally loosened, Maisie collapsed onto the concrete floor. She turned around to see who it was, the rest of the team doing the same.

The man had grey hair and the sharp attire of a man of authority. He had two dossiers in his hand. Maisie felt like she should probably be standing for this, so she sniffed a little and got up off the floor.

Benji spoke up first. "Secretary Hunley, what are you doing here?"

Hunley ignored him. "Take the fugitive out of the room, please, Dunn." He waited for the man to do so, and return again, before continuing. "I must say, Ethan, it was a bold play of yours, tricking me into assigning you this case. I never knew you were capable of something like this."

Luther frowned. "I don't understand, sir."

"Ethan is both arsonist and firefighter. He sets up the Apostles, creates an identity for himself as John Lark, then convinces the rest of us he's trying to stop the terrorist. He has been linked to the purchase of the smallpox virus released early last year, and the flight details of the passenger craft that crashed. Not to mention how convenient it is that he managed to incapacitate a man posing as Lark and intercept the meeting with the White Widow. Ethan Hunt, you are under arrest for-"

Ethan interrupted him. "Who gave you this information?"

Maisie had a sneaking suspicion she knew, but Hunley didn't budge. "Anonymous tip."

'This is ridiculous, Ethan would never…" Benji trailed off when Hunley handed him one dossier. Benji flipped through, Luther watching over his shoulder, and the men fell silent.

Maisie chanced a glare at Lark when he wasn't looking, and turned to Hunley. "Sir, I know for a fact Ethan isn't Lark."

"Miss Parker, I don't want to hear another word from you. You also had an anonymous caller. We don't tend to listen to people directly related to terrorists."

It seemed like Hunley had more to say, but before he could, a metallic whizz rang out and he clutched at his neck, where a short metal dart stuck out. His eyes drooped shut, and he slowly collapsed onto the floor, propped up by a pillar. In seconds, he was unconscious.

Ethan lowered the gun. "Look, we don't have time for this. You all need to trust me. Luther, go check on Solomon and start preparing the masks. Benji, you need to get changed."

He turned to Maisie, but she spoke up first, walking over to him slowly. "I'm really sorry, Ethan. I want to tell you, but I just can't. Whatever else I can do to help, I will." To his surprise, she drew him into a hug, pulling his neck down and turning them away from Lark. She whispered low enough that only Ethan could possibly hear. "It's Walker."

The words he replied with gave her a flicker of hope, and a newfound determination. "I know."

.

 _And there's our big reveal! Hopefully it didn't seem too unbelievable. Solomon Lane is definitely someone who plays the long game._

 _Let me know what you think, and a big shout out to Fallout47 and Larry Boodry for reviewing! It really keeps me motivated and wanting to share more of Maisie's story with you._

 _Next chapter Walker's true identity comes to light for the rest of the team, and he can finally confront Maisie as himself. Be excited. Be very excited._


	6. Part Six

The plan was simple, but of course, Ethan had no way of communicating that to the team until after it had already occurred.

After Benji had gotten changed into a matching set of clothes to Lane's – a pretty sharp leather jacket and trousers – and pulled on the mask Luther handed him, Ethan's main goal was to switch Lanes without Lark noticing, and without the team commenting.

Maisie, of course, was completely unaware of this and yet was inadvertently helping. Almost all of Lark's attention was focused on sending her scathing glares and trying to bar her into the corner of the room so as to avoid her colluding with the team. She just hoped he didn't catch on that it was already too late.

The switch was made without a fuss being made, and Ethan announced loudly to the team that they were to bring the fake Lane, Benji, to the White Widow, while 'Walker' kept an eye on the real one.

Maisie, still in a hulking massive leather jacket and no shoes, was the last to sneak out the door, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"Hunt!" Lark called out, causing the man to turn back around. "I think it's best if Maisie stays here; gotta keep her out of any unnecessary danger. She'll be safe with me."

Ethan paused, ignoring Maisie's desperate eyes widening at him. He nodded. "You're right. Keep an eye on her," Ethan's statement was punctuated with a tiny wink at Maisie once Lark turned back inside. She frowned, and Ethan tilted his head to the Lane he was holding, then at the room they came from. A lightbulb flashed, and Maisie mouthed an 'ohh' before letting the door fall shut between her and the rest of the team.

When she slowly swiveled back to Lark, she expected to suffer the brunt of his wrath, but he was standing over what Maisie was certain was actually the Benji-Lane. It was clear Lark was fuming. "You idiot, why would you tell them the truth? What if they go looking at all the people Maisie and Brian fucking Smith both know and my face shows up? Huh? You're so fucking obsessed with damning Hunt's name and showing off your goddamn parenting skills that you've gotta make me waste time tampering evidence for the CIA. If you could've just gotten over yourself, maybe I would've got the plutonium already, Lane! The Apostles are ready, _I'm_ ready, but we're all hanging around waiting for you to play house!"

"The greater the suffering, the greater the peace."

"I don't get why care so much about framing this dude, Lane. The whole IMF are just a bunch of idiots with face ma-"

Lark broke off, hands buried in his hair. He then glared at 'Lane', who had dropped the charade of acting, and was now offering up a rueful smile. Lark stormed over and ripped the mask down the middle with his bare hands.

"Just the job," Benji quipped, still with the voice of Solomon Lane, "nothing personal."

Lark's fury moved across the room, landing on Maisie. His eyes narrowed and his lip curled under the moustache. "You little bitch, what the fuck have you done?"

The look in his eyes was of a predator who had been cornered, and was seconds away from letting all hell break loose in order to escape. She swallowed, took a deep breath, and darted for the door.

He was faster than her, but she didn't have a guy still tied up to a chair in his way. She made it to the door, thanking whatever luck she still had that Lark hadn't bothered to lock it. She slipped out just as he caught up, bringing her to the ground in a harsh tackle.

Her chin hit the concrete painfully, her arms pinned down by his knees. She heard a gun click, and twisted her head around enough to see the whole IMF team, plus the real Solomon Lane, standing in front of them, Ethan holding a gun to Lark.

Lark simply chuckled and placed one hand over the back of her head, wrapping the other around Maisie's split chin, and put enough pressure for her to feel the tendons in her neck twisting painfully.

Ethan froze, gun faltering a little.

Lark grinned at him. "You think there aren't other people who can set off the bombs? The plan is already in motion, Hunt, there's nothing you can do to stop it now. But I can certainly stop Maisie from reaching her 23rd birthday, now, can't I? What d'you say?"

Ethan reluctantly lowered the gun.

"That's a clever boy." The hand on her chin dropped, but the one on her scalp twisted fingers in her hair and lifted her head up. "Of course, there's no need for death. If you'd like, I could settle for a little brain damage. Just enough to clear the hard drive, if you know what I mean."

Maisie caught Ethan's gaze, but for once, it didn't seem like he had a plan. He looked dazed and distant, and he dropped the eye contact before she did.

This was up to her. Years of being the information hoarder for a maniac was the only advantage she could give right now. There wasn't a lot of time. She sniveled, making her voice shake even more than it would've anyway. "Lark, can I just say something?"

The weight on top of her paused. Her head was raised high and the hand in her hair tightened into a fist. "Make it quick."

The team were giving her strange looks, but Benji was the only one she was looking at, raising her eyebrows meaningfully. "I'm so sorry…" She didn't know how quick Lark's reflexes were, so she had to say it fast and hope Benji got something out of it. "Take the red key out of the detonator and cut the green-"

Pain exploded on impact and sparked around her face. Something warm and viscous was running into her mouth, and her eyes swam.

There was yelling, gunfire, scuffles, but all of it sounded far away, like she was underwater. The weight of a man was dragged off her, but the unbearable pressure in her head remained. She felt dizzy and the only thing she could do was retch. Hands grabbed at her, pulling her into the air and the motion was so lurching she couldn't tell which way was up. A tiny prick was like the touch of a feather in comparison to the thrumming behind her eyes, but it brought the sweet release of a black nothing.

Waking up and becoming conscious are two very different things. Several times Maisie woke up, eyes blearily stretching open a little to see dry fields, gravel roads, fences fly past. Some part of her would become aware of a soothing swaying motion of a moving vehicle, and allow that to pull her under again.

When she finally became conscious, it wasn't peaceful at all. It brought the sharp memories of what transpired before, and a painful pressure around her nose.

She was propped up in the backseat of a small jeep. Still blinking away drowsiness, she first noticed a familiar female face in the front seat across from her. Ilsa Faust was muttering to the driver and tapping away on a tablet.

Maisie didn't remember ever seeing Ilsa since the café in Paris, but here she was. Someone gasped beside her, and she slowly turned her head around to the two agents sitting beside her. Benji, who was squished into the middle seat, had noticed her somewhat lucid state, and was shining a bright light in her eyes. She winced, and looked past him to where Luther was looking at her with a matching concerned expression.

Benji's cold hand on her cheek as he inspected the tightly wrapped bandages around her nose brought a little more clarity, and she blinked away the last of the sleep, straightening up in her seat.

"Woah, woah, woah, don't move so much, lassie. You've got a broken nose, and from the looks of it, a pretty serious concussion."

She nodded, slowly. "How did we get away?"

Ethan called out from the driver's seat. "We had a little help from the Secretary, as well as Ilsa here."

The woman turned around in her seat, forgetting the tablet for a moment. "I heard about Lane. I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, mass-murder is pretty crazy." Maisie frowned at the confused looks on the faces of the people she could see. "Lane's the guy with the beard, yeah?"

Benji leaned in to her, grabbing her shoulders. She tried to quell the rising sense of panic. "Do you remember what you tried to tell me before… Before you lost consciousness?"

Maisie thought back. "About the red key. And the wires."

"Okay, that's good." Benji seemed relieved, but it was Ethan, still speeding down a gravel road, that looked at her worriedly through the rear view mirror.

"What are you studying in college, Maisie?"

The attention from the passengers in the car was a little disconcerting. "I'm not in college. I'm here, trying to help you guys save the day." By the solemn looks of concern, she had said the wrong thing.

"What happened to your mother? Maisie, when you were a child, what happened to your mother?"

She pondered Ethan's question, thought about it for a really long time, tried to picture what her mom looked like. What was her name, again? She was silent for too long. "What's going on?" she finally asked, blinking hard to stop the tears that were threatening to spill. "I don't understand."

Luther reached over Benji to place a comforting hand on her knee. He turned to Ethan. "Can we get her to a hospital?"

Ethan was irritable, tense. "Do you see a fucking hospital?" He took a shaky breath. "I'm sorry, there's no time. Ilsa, any updates on their location?"

"The signal leads to a medical camp, then disappears."

"Then that's exactly where he wants us to go."

Maisie couldn't handle the glances of pity. She turned to look out the window at the rolling hills and distant icy peaks, trying desperately to think of something, anything, that would ground her in reality.

But nothing came.

.

 _Uh oh! Do you think it's permanent or temporary brain damage? You may have noticed I've altered a couple details here and there throughout the story for it to flow better with Maisie, but our biggest change yet is that Hunley is still alive! I'm not sure whether he'll properly feature in this story going forward, or if there's even a place for it, but I just couldn't bear to kill him off like in the movie. He's too good of a guy for that xD_

 _Let me know what you think! I'm so excited for you all to see what kind of a role Maisie will end up playing in the last thrilling action sequence of the film. True story, the first time I watched this movie, the final helicopter sequence and everything that follows caused me to break out in a sweat._

 _That's good filmmaking, ladies and gents._


	7. Part Seven

The medical camp in Kashmir was an extremely well-organized front. Townspeople and volunteers alike bustled back and forth between the medical tents, the village, and the gorgeous farmlands around them.

Unfortunately for Maisie and the rest of the team, there was no time to enjoy the sights. As soon as they arrived, they needed to locate Lane, Lark, or at least some evidence of where they would be going next.

In the car ride, Benji had finally discovered what Maisie had said to him in London, words that she now had no context for. The red key was a cylindrical plug that was responsible for triggering the failsafe mechanisms in both bombs. Remove that, and you were safe to defuse the bombs by cutting certain wires.

The catch? The detonator needed to be already counting down for the key to be removable. Not only did the team have no way of knowing how long that countdown would be, but until they had access to one of the bombs, they'd have no idea when it was set off.

The first place the team decided to look was right in the center of the medical camp. All the radiation off medical equipment made it the perfect place to hide signals coming off a plutonium bomb.

Maisie wanted to look; Ethan had even nicked a pair of boots sitting outside an empty hut on their way in, so she no longer had to hobble around barefoot. But he didn't want her help. It made no sense to Maisie: if they were going to die if the bomb wasn't found, there wasn't much to lose anyway, but Ethan's decision seemed to always be the final one in the group.

He was herding her towards the front steps of the main tent when a gentle female voice called out to him.

"Ethan?"

Judging by his astonished expression, this was someone he knew.

"Ethan, what are you doing here?"

Another unfamiliar face showed up; a bearded man that wrapped his arm around the shoulders of the lady.

The man seemed to be unfamiliar to Ethan as well, and he blurted out some excuse as to why he knew the lady, Julia, and gave a fake name.

The woman turned to Maisie and furrowed her eyebrows, bemused. Maisie had almost forgotten how ridiculous she must look; wearing French police clothes under an oversize leather jacket with muddy boots on her feet, laces still undone. She was about to introduce herself before Ethan placed a hand on her shoulder.

"An intern of mine, Sarah Smith."

Maisie didn't care about him using an alias, so why did the name Smith twist her heart so much. She smiled through a grimace. "I was just wondering if I could shadow some of your workers here, get some real-world experience."

"Oh, okay. Patrick and I were just packing up, actually, I'm sure one of the medics inside could show you around."

Maisie's response died in her throat as movement caught her eye. Benji, Luther and Ilsa were speaking frantically into their earpieces at Ethan, gesturing to an antenna on a roof. She did a double take as she noticed the bomb rigged to it. "Uh, yeah, I'll find someone. Thanks!"

She gave Ethan a nod when she left, heading into the massive tent behind them.

Rows upon rows of cots sat just inside the entrance, only a few still with patients. Not interested in spending too much time around sick and injured people, she headed back further. There were several rooms off of the narrow hallway, mostly just full of equipment or workers, but at the far end was an exit that led to a beautiful view of the mountains and valleys of Kashmir.

If Maisie was potentially going to die, she might as well spend her last moments on Earth in peace.

The air was brisk, but it cleared her head. She took a seat at an empty plastic picnic table, and took in the view. Rolling hills turned into rocky and icy mountains above, and below a piercing blue river powered through a canyon, with a wider glacier further behind it.

On the plains ahead of her two sleek black helicopters sat idle, one with a massive package connected to it with a cable.

There were three people milling around one, two in pilot's gear, one in a black coat. Maisie froze when a very distinct piece of facial hair identified the man in the coat.

Lark.

He was far enough away that she couldn't tell what it was that he was holding in his hand, but she could make a pretty good guess. Maisie looked around back the way she came, but no other agents were in sight.

There was no way she would be able to get that detonator off of him, but she could at least draw some attention.

As she got up and started creeping closer, praying he didn't turn her way, she absentmindedly itched at the bandage on her nose. In the few moments she had caught sight of Lark, her nose had begun throbbing again, and she had to blink hard to stay fully alert.

Details became clearer the closer she got, until she was forced to crouch behind one of the helicopters to avoid being seen. It was definitely the detonator in his hand, but she could see a thin line stretching between him and it, like he had physically attached it to his person.

She swore under her breath, and began proceeding forward again as he turned his back to her.

He seemed to be waiting for something, but the pilots were antsy to go, and both of them had turned around to go and get into the vehicles.

Maisie tried to speed back to the safety of hiding behind the helicopter, but one of the pilots had already spotted her, yelling out a gruff 'hey!' and making chase.

Her ill-fitting boots and weak legs were soon outrun by the tall man and he latched his arms around her chest, lifting her feet off the ground and dragging her back to Lark.

As she was brought closer and Lark saw her face, she was expecting anger, or irritation, but not what she actually got. Laughter. Deep, hearty laughter.

"What's so fucking funny?" She growled at him through gritted teeth.

He came to a stop, though an amused smile still stretched across his face. "So I did some damage after all," he commented, gesturing lazily at her bandaged up nose. She didn't give him the dignity of an answer, settling with a solid glare. "Where are your friends now, huh?"

"They're going to stop you, asshole!"

He tilted his head to the side. "How? They're clearly looking in the wrong place." He made a show of searching all around him, then grinned at her. "How about we speed things along?"

Maisie struggled harder, desperately flailing her legs out at yelling at the man as he lifted up the remote, and pressing the button that started the countdown.

15:00 become 14:59.

The red numbers ticked down steadily as Lark dropped the detonator with a smug look on his face, letting it dangle at his chest.

A shout caused Lark, Maisie, and both pilots to simultaneously whip their heads around to the back exit of the medical camp.

The silhouette of Agent Hunt sped towards them, arms pumping viciously. The grin dropped off of Lark's face, then, and he rolled his eyes.

Lark looked at the pilot and jerked his head towards the closest helicopter. As one pilot ran towards the helicopter with a load attached to it, Maisie was dragged into the other one with Lark. The pilot dumped her on the floor and took his place behind the wheel, powering up the engines. She scrambled to get back on her feet and lunge out the open door, but an iron grip on her ankle made her lose her balance, torso dangling down awkwardly over the side.

She moaned in dread as the grass she was face-to-face with left her as the helicopter lifted off the ground. Her body weight pulling against her ankle caused it to click painfully as Lark hoisted her back in.

They were rising slowly to ten, fifteen, twenty feet in the air, and finally Maisie collapsed onto the floor of the helicopter. There wasn't much room, only the pilot's seat behind her and the seat across from her Lark was occupying. She kicked out at him and he reluctantly let go of her ankle.

He was glaring at her, mouth twisted under that ghastly moustache, but her attention was more caught by the stick-man in the distance dangling from the cable of the second helicopter behind him. From her position, she could watch as what could only be Ethan Hunt climbing the rope that led up to the body of the helicopter. Lark and her pilot, both facing forward, had no idea, so she steeled herself into an expression of indifference, tying herself to the back of the pilot's seat with a floppy fabric band to function as a seatbelt.

It was a couple minutes before Ethan reached the top, and when that tiny black shadow lost grip and fell down, hanging by the bottom of the white package, Maisie had to cover her gasp with a fake sneeze. Lark gave her a strange look, but she was more focused on the slow but steady progress that Ethan was making to get back into the helicopter.

Lark checked the remote. "Just over seven minutes," he declared. "It's too late for them, down in the village. You should be grateful you're in this helicopter with me. I should've snapped your neck when I had the chance."

"Why not give it another go? Or you could just cause me more brain damage? Greater the suffering, the greater the peace, huh?"

Lark had recoiled in affront, lip curling at the use of the phrase. Maisie didn't even know where it came from, but he seemed to have a strong reaction to it.

"Listen here, you little rat, your attempts to foil our goals haven't worked, but I still haven't forgotten what you've done. I'll show you suffering."

Maisie blinked. In the time she had spent in conversation with this madman, the helicopter behind them had gone out of her sight. She tried to look around without drawing attention, but a sudden swerve was followed by a white object whizzing by the side of the helicopter.

"What the fuck?" The pilot craned his neck to look up at what caused it, and Lark leaned out of the window, squinting against the sun.

Maisie didn't have to look to know it was Ethan.

The irritation on Lark's face said it all.

.

 _What do you think? Again, I'm a newbie to action sequences so if you find this even a quarter as thrilling as the actual movie I'll be flattered._

 _Next chapter will contain the rest of the action; helicopters + cliff-face = fun times._

 _Only two chapters left!_

 _Question: would you be interested in another MI fanfic taking place during Ghost Protocol/Rogue Nation? I'm tossing up whether I do a Maisie AU, what would happen if she crossed paths with Ethan and the gang at a different point in time, or just create a new character._

 _I'm having so much fun with our favorite Impossible Mission Force and I don't think I can say goodbye just yet!_


	8. Part Eight

"That crazy son of a bitch is trying to ram us!"

Both helicopters had been whirling around each other dizzily for the better part of a minute, and it seemed Ethan had finally given up the theatrics. Brute force didn't tend to be his style, but both the countdown and the stream of grey smoke billowing out of his engine had clearly motivated him to try and take Lark's aircraft down at any cost.

After a particularly near miss, Lark swore and leapt out of his seat, jumping at Maisie. She was still crouched on the floor of the helicopter, using fabric strip handholds to tie herself in. In the few seconds he took to awkwardly stumble over to her she drew her arms and legs up to defend herself, but she was no match for the muscled madman. He ignored her flailing legs and barely blinked at her desperate punches to his face and simply reached down to her stomach, fingers working at the crude knot holding her down.

It didn't take him long to get it loose enough to simply drag her away, and a peculiar feeling of weightlessness came over her as the pilot swerved again, tipping the helicopter away at a 45 degree angle. The threadbare fabric floor didn't give much friction and Maisie found herself slipping out, first her arms dangling out the window, then her head tipping backwards, making her eyes throb with the sudden rush of blood.

Lark, with an arm securely wrapped in a handhold, managed to wrap one bulky hand around her left boot and her fall halted, tugging painfully on her ankle. She felt more than heard the dull click of a bone jerking out of place, and her arms waved around above her, blindly trying to reach Lark and her foot to no avail.

The sound of choppers doubled as a black shadow fell over her upturned face. Ethan's helicopter pulled up beside theirs, and the man himself threw Maisie a startled double take when he saw her being held up by a boot. Their helicopter straightened out, and her spine was bent back across the bottom of the open door.

Core burning, she gave up trying to pull her torso up and let herself dangle. Ethan's gaze had shifted to the helicopter, and his expression darkened. He shook his head slightly and for a heart-stopping moment the grip around her ankle disappeared. She dropped another foot and a half out of the aircraft and was only caught again when her left leg was the only thing still inside the vehicle. Ethan's eyes widened and he drew his helicopter down lower.

Maisie, still dizzy with blood rush and nauseous with fright, let her limbs slow as she wondered where he was going, when she heard a shout and felt the helicopter begin to tilt again, back the way it came.

Her back and butt were no longer folded back against the outside of the craft, but were dangling in open air. Her arms and right leg began to wave desperately, abs working overtime to try and pull herself up, her vision flooded with rushing, upside-down cliff faces and valleys.

She saw a flash of black, and felt the muscles latched onto the boot tense, and then nothing.

Falling was something Maisie had never really done until she met Ethan Hunt.

In fact, meeting with Lark himself had always been a relatively safe and low-key affair until she met Hunt.

Feeling a strange sense of déjà vu, Maisie again marveled at how time slowed down to a halt when you fell. The open air all around unanchored you in reality, and you had all the time in the world to think about how you ended up here, and what would happen when you inevitably land.

The moments before impact, things speed up a little. Time catches up with space, and you realize you probably won't make it.

Maisie was expecting this point to come a lot later than it did. She was expecting to hit the rocks and turn into an oblivion. What she got, however, was a vessel appearing underneath her, a door that she fell right into.

One moment she was descending through empty space, the next moment she had been scooped from the air by a sideways helicopter, entering through the open door and landing with her face pressing down hard on the glass on the other side.

A sickening lurch twisted her stomach as Ethan righted the vehicle, and her body fell limp against the floor.

She had enough strength left in her muscles to grab onto a handhold, praying her racing heart wouldn't wear through her chest.

She was sure she heard Ethan's voice, but the chopper drowned it out, and soon a high pitched tone drowned that out. There was no sound, no sight, no texture on her skin. She sighed out a groan, and let the darkness take her.

It was the sting of snow that brought Maisie back to consciousness. The harsh awakening of being in a burning helicopter that's rushing towards the edge of a snowy cliff at breakneck speed gave her a burst of alertness and energy, and she threw her body onto the seats, shaking hands desperate to click a seatbelt around her.

"Hold on!"

Ethan was shouting to her from the cockpit, and she let out an angry yell as the metal parts wouldn't click in. Her gaze darted between her lap and the dizzying view across from her.

The edge of the cliff had a small lip, but one that surely wouldn't be enough to stop them rolling off the side. Legs braced against the wall, pushing her back down into the seat, she fumbled with the belt, jamming the parts together frenetically, waiting for the slip and click that would potentially save her life.

They were slowing now, the snow piling up finally causing some much-needed friction. The chance to breathe a little gave her clarity of mind, and just as the vehicle came to a smooth stop, right on the edge of the cliff, she felt the pieces slide into place.

"Oh, god, oh," she panted, hands clutching at her chest.

She could feel the thump of her overworked heart and the burn of cold air in her throat as she gasped in breaths.

This moment of respite reenergized them both, but it was short-lived. The unholy screech of clashing metal accompanied the jolting impact of what could only be Lark's helicopter hitting into theirs.

In a second, they were floating again, Maisie's butt lifting off the seat as the connected bodies of the aircrafts scraped down the side of the cliff, coming to an unsteady stop only when they got caught between two rockfaces.

Lark's helicopter had gone over the top of theirs and was now underneath them, a few feet down.

Over Ethan's shoulder, and out the shattered windscreen, she could see Lark's profile dangling from his place buckled in to the seat. She couldn't see the pilot.

"The detonator," Maisie heard Ethan mumble.

Her eyes widened as she saw him fumble with his seat belt. "Are you insane?" she shrieked. He's got it clipped onto him with a fucking carabiner, Ethan."

Ignoring her, he unclipped his belt and let gravity take him to Lark. He was hanging by the detonator's cable, both men grunting angrily at each other.

A tug on Ethan's behalf caused the whole helicopter to dislodge, and the movement of the bottom one triggered the helicopter Maisie was in to fall straight down the crevice too.

The crafts fell quicker than the two men, and the open maw of the windshield swallowed them up, falling with Maisie the only one still buckled in.

There was luckily a small plateau further down that both helicopters crashed into, the vacant one sliding all the way across and over the edge, held up onto by a metal hook attached to a loose cable from the craft.

Both Lark and Ethan were launched out of the other, rolling across the stone until they collapsed, catching their breath.

Maisie fumbled at her seatbelt, wanting to get out of the shattered vehicle now that she was finally on stable land.

She landed painfully on the rock, but pulled herself to her feet quickly, ignoring the sharp pains running up from her left ankle.

Both men had slowly begun to get to their feet too, more battered up from the final crash than she was, due to their free-falling.

The detonator was resting near the edge of the cliff. Maisie had no idea how much time was even left on it; it felt like hours since they had arrived in Kashmir.

Lark stood in their way. He had a hideous burn on the side of his face and it was clear he was pissed. There was no way she could get to that detonator unnoticed, but she could at least provide a distraction so that Ethan could get the one-up on Lark, take him by surprise, when he's not looking.

"Hey, Lark!" She called out to him. He turned to her, agitated, as she begin limping closer. "I don't know if I was clear before," she huffed out, only a couple feet away now, "but I fucking quit!" She lunged at him, hands reaching up to scratch the raw burns on his face.

He shoved her off and she tumbled, but latched onto his wrist to tug him down too. Having no previous training, her fighting consisted of angry flailing, trying her best to keep him down.

He was far stronger than her, but he had knocked his head on the rock on the way down, blood streaming down his temple, and it was clear it had slowed him down. One well-timed punch on his behalf, however, caught her in the chin and her teeth knocked together, head snapping back. A metallic liquid flooded her mouth and the explosion of nerves in her bitten tongue caused tears to spring to her eyes.

She fell back onto her elbows, but just as Lark began to get up, Ethan jumped in. The two grappled, and Maisie took the time to stand up and stumble closer to where the detonator lay precariously close to the edge.

A flying limb here and there reminded her the men were still fighting, nearer and nearer to the open air. A solid tackle threw both men over the side and Maisie cried out.

The nausea that had been on and off ever since she first entered the helicopter had returned, and her vision turned spotty. Unsure whether they were still alive down there or not, Maisie's only job was to get that detonator, but it was getting harder to hold her weight up on her ankle, so she bent into a crawl.

An echoing crack was Maisie's only warning to a piece of rock coming loose behind her; the metal hook had detached and was flying through the air.

She had enough time to fling her body backwards, and the hook found a new ledge to stick into. Now she was leaning back on her elbows, and the bright white of the sun in her eyes became all-encompassing. The pain of her tongue and her ankle intensified with a vengeance, but it was the only think keeping her from falling unconscious.

The remote was less than a foot away from her outstretched hand, and she fought the underlying numbness in her muscles to painstakingly inch closer and closer.

Her shaking fingers finally brushed up against something solid.

Maisie gave one final push to get her near enough to grab the remote, but her arm was too weak to lift high enough, and the detonator went skittering away from her, over the edge.

Her last reserves of energy gone and the crushing weight of failure pushing on her lungs, she succumbed to unconsciousness one last time.

.

 _Ahh! Hopefully I've done this scene justice, but also given it something different to keep it fresh! This is the penultimate chapter, so prepare yourself for wrapping up Maisie's story (at least for this book!)._

 _Let me know what you think, I'll see you on the flip side!_


	9. Part Nine - The Finale

Maisie woke up before Ethan did. He was in a bed to her right, both of them presumably in the medical camp still. Her left leg was resting atop a pile of pillows, with an ice pack resting on her ankle.

The bandages on her nose had been changed, much less bulky now, and the smooth wave of morphine coming from the drip in her hand eased her muscles and dulled the pressure in her head.

When she came to, the bearded man she had briefly met before was hovering anxiously over the bed, and he started when she shifted around.

"Easy, take it easy, you've had a rough day."

It took a moment, but the memory of hurtling through the air in a crashing helicopter and everything that ensued afterwards slowly returned to her. The fact that Ethan was beside her and, of course, the fact that they hadn't all been blown to pieces was reassuring, and she sighed in relief.

"That's it, just take it easy."

"Where is everyone?"

"They're outside, I can bring 'em in for you if you want."

She gave a grunt of affirmation and in a few short moments the IMF team came bundling in. Luther looked no worse for wear but both Benji and Ilsa had strange marks around their necks. "What happened?"

Ilsa winced, but Benji gave her hand a reassuring pat. "Oh, just almost strangled to death. Nothing too exciting."

Maisie raised her eyebrows, but couldn't stop a grin from sneaking onto her face. "Just hang in there."

He scoffed, but smiled back. "I'm glad you're okay. Sprained ankle is pretty rough going, huh?"

"I still have a second leg I could kick you with, so watch out, Clifford."

Ilsa jumped in. "What happened with Lark, Maisie?"

"I can answer that," a creaky voice groaned from beside them. Ethan was awake and leaning on one elbow to face them. "Lark is dead, and the bombs were stopped. Oh, and thank you, Maisie, for dropping the remote down to me. I wasn't going to reach it in time."

Maisie laughed awkwardly.

Ethan blinked at her.

"How close were we?" Benji asked, not noticing the incredulous look on Ethan's face.

Ethan recovered, and gave Maisie a stern look that broke into a smile too soon to be real. "The usual."

"You're lucky your friends were so close behind," the bearded doctor piped in, "they airlifted you two out just in time. Another hour and you would've both died from exposure."

Ethan and Maisie both furrowed their eyebrows at this, glancing towards the doors as two familiar figures strode in.

"You two are lucky to be alive," a dark skinned woman announced. "I'm glad we could trust you."

Maisie did recognize the second person that entered the room. The Secretary of the IMF left the lady's side and came to stand at the end of Maisie's bed.

"Here to arrest me, Hunley?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "On the contrary, you'd make a great agent someday, Miss Parker."

"Hard pass."

"Okay, then."

A moment of silence passed before the group lapsed into quiet laughter.

They may have all been exhausted, and injured, and weak from the comedown off the constant stream of adrenaline they'd all been on for the better part of a day, but they were all still alive.

Maisie fell silent. "What's going to happen to Lane?"

"We'll deal with him," Ethan promised her.

She bit her lip. "What's going to happen to me?"

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I don't think I can just go back to…to college? It feels like a thousand years away, and I don't know if I'd even remember half the things I was taught. I can barely recall even going."

Her mind was all jumbled, timelines entangled, experiences foggy, but if she thought hard enough, she could feel that the memories were there.

It took a while, but eventually it was the bearded man who spoke up. Patrick, she thought his name was. "We just had one volunteer finish their term here. Of course, we'd have to train you up, but you're welcome to come join us. Next week we're leaving for the Philippines."

Maisie nodded slowly. "I do like warm weather."

"Anyway, you have a while to rest up and think about it. I'll let you lot catch up."

Patrick left the room, and one by one, the IMF agents not on bedrest enthusiastically retold their version of events from the past hour.

At one point Maisie drifted off, content in the warmth of the evening sun and the mingling voices of her friends.

Maisie did have time to think. While the dark-skinned woman left shortly after she arrived, Hunley had stayed around to get a full account of events from the team. Maisie's nose was still busted up, but her ankle was a quick heal, and she had spent some time following around Patrick as he explained to her their usual day-to-day.

She was on one such round when she saw several figures lining up to hop into the helicopter that Hunley arrived in. Ilsa, Luther, Benji and Ethan were due to return to the IMF headquarters with Hunley.

Tuning out Patrick's enthusiastic descriptions of a water filtering system, Maisie tried to ignore the twisting in her chest.

There was no reason to be upset; she didn't even know these people a week ago. But it had felt like forever to her, and maybe she was a little scared to give that up.

The rotor blades were starting to turn, now.

Patrick had stopped speaking about water filtration, and was giving her an odd look. "Maisie, what's u-"

Maisie shot up and started sprinting towards the vehicle, its rotor blades picking up speed. Patrick called out to her to ask what she was doing, but even she didn't really know.

Only Hunley was still on the metal steps leading up to the helicopter's body.

She yelled out something incoherent and he turned around in confusion, waiting, bemused, as she half ran, half hopped up to him.

Hunley had to wave at the pilot to get him to stay put, and he gripped on to the stepladder as his coat buffeted around him.

She was panting when she reached him, clumsily climbing the steps so that she was close enough for them to hear each other.

"What are you doing?" He shouted at her.

Maisie paused. What was she doing? Deep down, she knew exactly what. "I'd like to revoke that hard pass if I could?"

He gave her a disbelieving laugh. "Welcome to the IMF, Miss Parker."

.

 _We've come to the end of Maisie's story! (at least in this book) Thank you for your patience, my schedule got a little iffy with a first aid course I was sitting, but we got there!_

 _I'll miss Maisie too much to let her go, so she's going to come back for an alternate universe-style fan-fiction, where she meets the IMF in either Ghost Protocol or Rogue Nation (which one would you like to see?) and see where that takes her!_

 _If you're a fan of Stephen King's IT (particularly the 2017 movie), the Sherlock TV show or The Shining, I have fan-fictions for those on this account too (sorry for the shameless self promotion)._

 _This is goodbye, not for Maisie, but for this story. It's been an amazing time._


End file.
